


Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High?

by hairringtonsteve



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst?, Bellarke, Drug reference, F/M, It just happened, Modern, Romance, alcohol reference, i don't even know where this came from, i think, mild swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 08:11:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3167750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hairringtonsteve/pseuds/hairringtonsteve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellarke Modern AU. </p><p>Clarke can't sleep, and a certain someone gives her a call at an ungodly hour in the morning. </p><p>(Or, Bellamy only wants to talk to Clarke when he's high.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High?

Clarke had been tossing and turning for hours, and sleep still evaded her. 

She rolled over onto her side, scowling when she saw her clock. The bright red numbers lit up with a 1:42. It wasn’t fair. She had two finals, one in only eight hours. She wasn’t prepared for her Neuropsychology final, she knew that. She also knew that there was almost guaranteed an essay portion that she was most definitely going to have to bullshit her way through. She wasn’t ready for any of this. She was probably going to fail everything (that was a lie – she knew she’d pass. The past semester had been filled with so many unnecessary extra credit assignments that she was guaranteed at least a high B if she bombed this, although an A was more likely). 

She let out a muffled groan, her eyes slipping shut only to see brown ones staring back at her. Her fingers gripped the blanket tight. She was stressed, that was all. She couldn’t sleep because she was stressed. _Not_ because some massive jackass was invading her thoughts. 

So what if Bellamy Blake had kissed some girl while making eye contact with her the night before? He’d been drunk off his ass. It was stupid, really. It was Bellamy Blake. He was notorious for bringing some girl back to the apartment. Octavia complained about that all of the time. It wasn’t anything new. And she didn’t care. She didn’t care that he was probably pushing some other girl up against the wall, his lips trailing down her –

She wasn’t going to go there. 

She didn’t care. 

Reluctantly she got up, swinging her legs over the side of her bed, stretching them out in front of her. She leaned over, grabbing her laptop and phone before settling her back against the wall. She opened up her laptop, stealing a quick glance over to the bed, nervous that Raven might wake up if she heard her. The bed was empty, of course. Not that she was that surprised. Raven had started making it a habit to wait until Clarke was asleep before she slipped out of their dorm room. Neither of them spoke of it, but she was positive that Raven had found some guy. She wasn’t one hundred percent sure, but asking was out of the question. Ever since everything with Finn had gone down, it had become the unspoken agreement that the topic of guys was off-limits. 

Not that she minded, really. Finn was a touchy subject, and because of him she’d sworn off dating until she was out of college. The guys would be way more mature then, anyway (she hoped, at least). 

She brought up the study guide that her professor had given them. She felt like she could recite the entire ten pages of topics. When she’d received the email two weeks ago, she’d almost laughed at the sheer insanity of it. Finals were bad enough, but cumulative finals were going to be the death of her. 

She spent the next half hour going over terms, the words and definitions rolling around in her brain on a constant loop that made them stop sounding like the English language. She paused only when she heard her phone go off. She snatched up the device, swiping her finger across the screen as she kept her eyes on the laptop. 

“Yeah?” It was almost two thirty in the morning, so she assumed that it was Octavia or Raven. Normally she’d be annoyed at the interruption, but any distraction was a welcome one.

“Griffin.” 

Except that one. 

“Blake.” She bit her lip, her stomach plummeting in ways that confused her. She let her head fall back against the wall, her eyes slipping shut.

“Don’t sound so excited to see me, Princess. You might give a guy the wrong idea.” His words were slurring together just slightly, but it was the way that his voice was dipping that clued her in. That, and just how raspy his voice was. 

“I can’t see you, idiot. You called me.” She waited a second for him to answer, but when there was none she continued. “Are you high right now?” 

“And drunk. You should try it sometime.”

“Bellamy, are you stupid? Do you know how dangerous that is? Marijuana slows down your body as it is. Mixing that with alcohol is dangerous,” she hissed, setting her laptop on the bed beside her. She kept her phone cradled between her shoulder and her ear as she hopped down to the ground. She grappled blindly for a pair of jeans before slipping her pajama shorts off. 

“I can handle myself. ‘M fine.” 

“Where are you? I’m not going to let you die because you’re some moronic jackass.” She tugged on her jeans and shoved a pair of her shoes on, ignoring the way they felt without socks. There wasn’t enough time for that. 

“’M not going to die, Princess. I’ll be fine. Just… Fine.”

“We’re not playing that game, Bellamy. Where are you? Because if you don’t tell me, then I’m calling O and she’s going to be so pissed at you.” She could hear a muffled groan after she said that. She slipped on a jacket, dropping her phone in the process. She snatched it back up, shoving it to her ear as she used the other hand to grab her keys. 

“-Fifth street. There’s this huge tree. ‘S really nice. I could climb it.” 

“Bell, can you say that again?” She was heading towards the elevator now, struggling to keep herself relaxed as she headed towards it. She needed to calm down. She’d find Bellamy, get him some water, and then drop him off at the apartment. Everything would be fine. 

“I like it when you call me Bell. You never do.” Clarke bit back a sigh, stopping in front of the elevator. 

“Bellamy, just tell me where you are. Please.” She jammed her finger against the down button a bunch of times, hopelessly wishing that that would hurry up the elevator. 

“I already told you, Clarke. Somewhere on Seventy-Fifth Street. _Huge_ tree.” She could hear the frustration growing in his voice. She bit back snapping at him. If she pushed him, he’d probably get annoyed and hang up on her. God knew that it happened all the time when he was sober. 

The second the elevator got to her floor she was charging in, holding down the lobby button and the close button at the same time. It was a trick that her father had taught her, that holding them down at the same time would make it run faster. It was a fireman’s trick that he’d learned early on. Granted, he hadn’t been a fireman, but he had been an engineer. And whatever he learned, he tried to pass on to her. 

“I’m sorry, Bell,” she breathed out, hoping that that would be enough to keep him on the line. “Can you talk to me until I get there?” It was like talking to a child. But she knew that she had to keep him on the phone until she saw him. She’d beat herself up if anything happened to him. 

“Why do you act like you hate me?” The question came out of nowhere. She actually hesitated when the doors opened. How was she supposed to answer that?

“I don’t – I don’t hate you, Bellamy.” That was the truth. How could she hate him? Bellamy, who had been there when her father died. Bellamy, who had been the one to step up when all he had left was Octavia. Bellamy, who gave up everything for his sister. Bellamy, who’s grin could make her feel like she was simultaneously on fire and being dowsed in cold water. Bellamy, who was the farthest thing from hate in her mind. 

“Yes, you do. You always hate me. Even though I don’t hate you. I never hated you. You… You’re good. You’re good and I’m- I’m me.” By that time she was out the doors of the lobby and headed towards her car. She was pressing the unlock button rather violently, throwing the door open the second she could. 

“You’re good too, Bellamy. You’re better than good.” 

She started up the car, one hand on the wheel and one holding the phone as she backed up. She listened to his steady breathing as she pulled out of the lot. She could hear murmuring as she turned towards the direction of where he said that he was. 

“Bellamy?” 

“You hate me because I was the one that told you about Finn. Right? You hate me because I was the one that made everything fall apart,” he whispered, his words trailing off at the end. 

Clarke bit her lip. She would not cry. She would not break down. She could do this. She’d done this enough times. She wished that she could say that she hadn’t done this before, but she’d be lying. This was the seventh time in the last two months that he’d called her when he was like this. She knew that it was some twisted way of him apologizing. Bellamy couldn’t get the words out sober, so he’d get them out when he was under the influence of something. Usually it was just alcohol. When it was weed, he never called. The only difference in him when he was high could only be seen. The tension in his shoulders would be nonexistent. He’d stand closer to her, sometimes even playing with the tips of her hair if they were sitting beside each other. 

That had stopped within the last two months, though. 

“You told me the truth. You didn’t make his decisions, Bellamy. I can’t hate you for that.” _I can’t hate you for anything._

She made a turn onto the next road, keeping her eyes peeled for him. Seventy-Fifth Street was a long one, but she also had a pretty good idea to where he was. 

“I think I’m in love with you, Clarke.”

Under other circumstances, she would have felt different. Maybe her stomach would have started up in butterflies, or maybe her cheeks would flush. Her words might become flustered as a grin made its way onto her lips. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe. 

But this was different. Instead of butterflies, there was just this massive pit. She wasn’t sure, but she thought that she might be sick. Because this wasn’t the first time that he’d said this. No. 

This was the seventh. 

Seven calls, seven confessions. Seven aftermaths that ended up in her crying in her dorm while Raven quietly talked on the phone with Octavia, her words muffled but her intent clear. He always pretended like it had never happened. Even after he said it, when he was still drunk, he pretended like it hadn’t even been a thought that had crossed his mind.

“Don’t do this to me, Bell. Please.” Her voice cracked, but she wasn’t sure if it was because of what he said, or because she finally saw him. He was sitting on the bench at the entry to the city park. It wasn’t anything spectacular, but there was this tree that was slightly bigger than the others. The first time that she’d seen it, she’d exclaimed that it was huge. Bellamy had teased her, although she couldn’t remember exactly what was said. All she could remember was that he’d turned it into some dick joke that had made her cheeks instantly flush, but the grin on his face had been worth it. 

She pulled up to the curb in front of him, shutting the car off before she was out the door and into the cool night air. She took a seat beside him, pressing the end call on her phone as she looked over to him. 

“You hung up on me,” he said, a serious expression on his face as he watched her. 

“You didn’t play fair,” she replied, keeping her gaze neutral. It was hard to keep it that way. His gaze was searching her face frantically, but all she could focus on was the smattering of freckles over his cheeks. It wasn’t necessarily helping, but it was better than looking into his eyes and seeing pain. 

“I meant it. I meant it this time.” There was this kind of hazy look to him. She could smell the mix of beer and whiskey and marijuana on him. It masked the comforting scent that was just him. She bit her lip, struggling to keep up the façade. “Clarke, please,” he said, his voice breaking as he scooted closer on the bench. “I can’t stop thinking about you. All the time. I worry about you.” She averted her gaze to her lap, but it didn’t deter him. He shifted closer. His hand made it into her view as it rested on top of hers. His hand covered her in her lap, and she tried to ignore the comforting warmth that was enveloping her fingers. 

She wanted to be angry with him. She really did. 

But he made it impossible.

“Bellamy, I can’t,” she finally said, tugging her hand away from him. She stood up, her mouth opening and closing a couple of times before her words finally made it out. 

“You can’t tell me this stuff and then pretend that none of it happened when you’re sober,” she said, feeling as though she was choking the words out. “You can’t do this to me. It isn’t fair. You know how I-“ 

“How you what?” Suddenly, it was hard to tell just how drunk or high or whatever he was. Because in that moment, he sounded pretty sober. “How you what, Clarke?” 

She shook her head at him, instead jerking her hand towards her car. 

“Let’s just get you home, Bellamy,” she said, refusing to look at him. She headed towards her car, practically falling into her seat as she shoved the key into the ignition. A couple of seconds later the other door opened and Bellamy dropped into the seat, slamming the door shut behind him. “Don’t slam the door,” she snapped, her eyes on the windshield in front of her. 

It was quiet while they drove. In her hurry to find him, she hadn’t even turned on the radio when she’d gotten in earlier. So it was silence, the kind where everything felt heavy and you could cut the tension with a knife. 

“Definition of fluent aphasia,” Bellamy suddenly said. Clarke looked over to him, a frown on her face when she saw that his eyes were closed. 

“What?” He repeated it once more. “Bellamy, what are you talking about?” 

“I heard you and O studying together. Tomorrow’s your final, right?” Her frown deepened as she nodded her head. It took her a couple of seconds to realize that he couldn’t actually see her nodding.

“Uh, yeah,” she said, her hesitation clear in her voice. 

“So then answer me. The definition of fluent aphasia is…?”

“Language is fluent, but doesn’t make sense. It’s another name for – for Wernicke’s disease?” She looked back to the road before flicking her eyes over to him for a second. A small smile was on his face. It was the same one that he got when Octavia would get excited because she scored the highest class on her English Lit exam. 

“You’re going to ace your final, Princess,” he said. His voice sounded more tired than anything else. She smiled to herself, letting the quiet settle around them. While it hadn’t totally disappeared, the quiet had managed to fall into something more comfortable between them. 

They spent the remainder of the drive talking. Bellamy would remember some random term that he’d overheard and Clarke would respond with the definition. Conversation would drift off for a couple of minutes while Bellamy started to fall asleep, only to wake himself up again when he realized what he was doing. By the time they arrived, he looked like he was ready to just pass out.

“Can you get upstairs by yourself?” She asked, putting the car in park as she looked over to him. He turned to look at her, his gaze slipping over the features on her face before he nodded slowly. 

“Text me when you get home.” 

That was one thing that remained when he was drunk or sober. His demand that she would text him whenever she got home. It didn’t matter if they had just had dinner at Octavia’s apartment and it was only seven in the evening, or whether it was three am after she’d just dropped him off. He always ordered her to text him. 

“I will. Try not to wake up O when you get in, okay?” He gave another nod, smiling faintly before he leaned over, pressing his lips against her forehead before he ducked out of her car. He gave her a quick wave before he headed up the steps to the door. He hesitated, turning to watch her until she pulled out. 

Her skin burned where his lips had been.

***

It was over. She wasn’t quite sure how she’d managed to get through the entire final, but she had. And she wasn’t brain dead, which she’d honestly thought that she was going to be after completing that on two hours of sleep.

Even when she’d gotten home, she’d tossed and turned in bed for a good hour and a half before her phone had gone off.

**Did you get home alright?**

Clarke frowned at her phone, instantly realizing what she’d forgotten to do. 

_Yeah, I’m good. Just forgot. Sorry._

She’d buried farther under the pillows, tugging her pillow closer to her as she forced herself to close her eyes. A couple minutes later, her phone had gone off once more. She cracked an eye open, smiling when she’d read the response. 

**Night, Princess.  
And good luck.**

But that had been it. She hadn’t wanted to feel those butterflies when he’d texted her good night, but they’d been there in full force. Even then, when she’d finally finished her two finals, her stomach was still in an uproar due to some stupid text. It was ridiculous, really. She shouldn’t feel this way about him. 

She’d gotten a text from Octavia earlier that morning, the younger girl wanting to go grab something to eat after they were both finished with their finals. So when her phone had rang, she’d assumed that it was just Octavia. 

“Hey, O.” 

“Clarke.” 

She hadn’t checked the called id. She hadn’t checked and this was God punishing her because she needed to learn to do that. Or maybe he was punishing her because she’d slacked off on that last night at her internship and hid out in the lounge studying rather than helping that one particularly rude patient. Maybe that was it. 

“Clarke?” He repeated her name, something unidentifiable in his tone. 

“I didn’t hang up. I’m not an asshole,” she replied, unable to keep her bitterness from falling through. She ran a hand through her hair as she walked, making sure that he could hear her sigh on his end. 

“Last night, I’m – I’m sorry. I probably fucked you over for your finals, right?” 

“Not really. I mean, I managed to do alright, I think,” she said. Was this why he was calling? To apologize? Not that she wouldn’t take it, since the asshole hardly ever apologized to her. 

“I uh, I – I said stuff last night. That I – I didn’t want you to –“ His voice cut out for a second, which was the perfect amount of time for her to butt in.

“It’s fine, Bellamy. Really. I know. You shouldn’t have to worry about me thinking that you meant it. You were out of it. It’s fine. Really.” There was a good ten seconds of silence before he spoke. 

“What? What are you talking about? Why would I not want you to think that I meant it?” He asked. Clarke furrowed her brow. 

“Because you were drunk and high and you always spout bullshit when you’re high?” 

“Would you stop using that tone? I’m not a child, Clarke. And I know what I said. I meant every word, just so you know.” 

Everything froze. He meant it? That was the last thing that she’d thought when she heard his voice that morning. 

“Seriously?”

“Yes?” 

“So what you’re saying is that you might- you might be in love with me?” Her voice faltered over the words. She’d never been good at this. Bring her some hard to pronounce medical term? Fine. But feelings and all that crap? It was like suddenly the switch was shut off and she had no idea what was up or what was down. 

“Yeah. That’s exactly what I’m saying, Princess.” The questioning tone that she’d heard before was gone. In its place was just confidence. It was that type of confidence when you just _knew_ what you were talking about. “So did you want to grab coffee or something?” That made her pause.

“Coffee?” 

“Yeah, coffee. You and me, maybe that little place at the end of the corner near your dorm room? I’d honestly rather not talk about all of this over the phone.” 

“When?” 

“Half hour, maybe? Is that good?”

“Uh, yeah,” she said, suddenly feeling like she was incapable of forming more than one word sentences. He might be in love with her. And he wanted to talk. About his feelings. In public. Over coffee. 

What. 

“Clarke?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I just… This is a lot to comprehend right now. I don’t – I’m good. I’m really great, actually. A half hour for coffee. Got it. Good. Great. Okay.” She heard him chuckle through the speaker. The low, gravelly sound was possibly one of the greatest things that she’d ever heard in her life. 

“Don’t do this, Princess.” Clarke furrowed her brow as she walked, her arm getting a little tired from holding the phone up to her ear like that. 

“Don’t do what, Bellamy?” 

“Overthink this. And don’t deny it. You and I both know you are.“ She rolled her eyes. She was not overthinking this. “I know you a hell of a lot better than what you think that I do. So stop.” 

“Oh, you do, do you?” She asked him, smiling a little. For the first time in a long time, she felt alright. School was almost done – only one more final and that was in two days – and then she was done for the semester. She was getting ready to start her summer internship at a great hospital. And maybe, just maybe, things with Bellamy would work out. 

“Well I know that you’ve been in love with me for ages, so yeah.” At that, Clarke almost choked. She let out a cough, feeling her cheeks flare up even though he couldn’t see her. 

“You – What?” 

“You’re going to tell me that I’m wrong, Princess?” There it was. The tone that she secretly craved. The teasing one where she could just tell without having to look that he was grinning at her. She hesitated for a second, but only that. Because she knew, without a doubt, that he was right. 

“No.”

“Didn’t think so.” 

“Shut up, Bellamy.”

“Never, Princess.”

**Author's Note:**

> So... Yeah. I have no idea where this came from. I just sat down and wrote it. 
> 
> It's cheesy af, but oh well. I like it.
> 
> OH. Come say hi at hairringtonsteve.tumblr.com! I just started it up and I'm taking fic requests!


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